Silent Whispers
by AlphonseLuverNumber1
Summary: Gamzee Makara always had a small family. Of course, this never bothered him. Not until the day his small family got even smaller. (Humanstuck. Fun with ghosts! VERY sensitive subjects, all warnings inside. Rated M for strong language and triggering topics. Featuring Meuloz, Solradia, and later GamTav.)
1. Chapter 1

Hello again! It's me, your friendly neighborhood ship-sinker. I'm here with another multi-chapter fanfiction of undetermined length, I know I have more projects to work on but this one got my interest easily, and has an important message.

**This story is about suicide awareness. Also awareness for things such as disability, and child neglect. **

**This story is dedicated to a friend of mine, she took her life this month last year. Rest in peace Jessica, you live on in our hearts.**

The **warnings** for this story include;

- **Character death** (Obviously, but they're present throughout the story so don't worry.)  
>- <strong>Suicide<strong>  
>- <strong>Murder<strong>  
>- <strong>Self harm<strong>  
>- DepressionAnxiety  
>- Disabilities; Selective mutism, deafness, slight brain damage and tourettes syndrome<br>- Negligence  
>- Alcoholism<br>- Warped religious views (Homophobia/Warped Christianity)

The ships include;

- (_Expired_) Meuloz  
>- (<em>Complicated<em>) Solradia  
>- (<em>Much later<em>) PB&J (GamTav)  
>- There will be more later, it'll go chapter by chapter<p>

I would like to thank my chan, Jenny. She wrote Mituna for me, so call this a collab I suppose? I plan to work with her more as I continue this story, so much, much love and credit to her.

This fanfiction was also inspired by Ghost Whisperer (10/10 show much recommended) so basically I took two of the saddest series I could think of, and combined them. If someone doesn't cry, I'll be disappointed.

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><p>The Makara family was always small. Gamzee could never remember a time when it wasn't, he never knew what it was like to have a bunch of relatives he'd never talked to. There were no family reunions (big or small,) no Christmas parties or Thanksgiving dinners over big tables. There wasn't even an "Aunt Petunia" or an "Uncle Steve." There was only the three of them, his father, his brother, and himself. He couldn't remember his mother's face, not even his father could remember her name. He didn't even know the woman who mothered Kurloz either, all the details their father ever spared was that they were two different ladies, and the sizes of their tits. It didn't bother him, family was family. He never overthought it, despite his friends all having different stories, or Christmas vacations or even just complaining about visiting grandma's house that smelled like old lady and peppermint. There was naught a complaint or second glance. Not until the day his small family grew even smaller.<p>

It was Gamzee who found his body. It had been twenty minutes since he called his brother to come get lunch, at first the younger brushed this off with the thought "Well more for me," but then time ticked on and naught a peep was spared. He was under the assumption his older sibling was simply lazing around in bed, high off his ass as usual, but he didn't respond to his name even the third time Gamzee called for him. Standing in his doorway, he didn't realize until he got close enough to notice the other's pale face, so still his chest had ceased to move any longer. There was blood dribbling down his chin and staining his sheets in the form of a tiny puddle. Denial was his first reaction, eyes gone wide as he grabbed his brother's shoulder and shook him, calling his name a few more times to no avail. He attempted to pick him up but Kurloz was just too big to lift on his own. This was the point he started hysterically wailing for their father.

Kurloz Makara Sr. was not a sentimental, nor emotional man. He rarely showed affection, or even emotion in general (well, besides for outrage,) towards his boys. Never before had Gamzee seen anything like the look on his face once he realized what was going on. Gamzee always wanted to believe his father cared about them, Kurloz said he never showed it so obviously it wasn't there. In this moment, though, his youngest child watched every emotion you could think of pass his face. Panic, worry, despair, the list could go on. He rushed to the bedside and picked his older son up, trying anything to get him to cough the blood up.

"Call 9-1-1!" He shouted, "Gamzee call an ambulance, RIGHT NOW! GAMZEE!" He yelled and screamed so many times but Gamzee's head was spinning and the shock was doing its number on him, he was frozen in place as everything seemed to weigh him down until he was sitting on the floor holding his head. No, this can't be happening, he told himself. There's no motherfuckin' way. Crying and panicking, it all grew worse when he realized there was nothing he could really do. Nothing anyone could do.

Gamzee was left at home as his father broke every traffic law in the book to rush his eldest son to the emergency room, but Gamzee had called it. And so had the doctors, at 3:15 PM on October third. Cause of death; Suicide. It's not like no one would have guessed it, but it didn't fail to leave everyone who got the news reeling. No one was ready.

In the days passing it still didn't stop feeling like just a fucked up dream Gamzee kept wishing he'd wake up from, there was no adjustment before he was staring at a polished casket. They put Kurloz in a tuxedo. Gamzee knew very well what his brother would have to say about that, and none of the words were very polite. He would have hated all of this. As much as he insisted they should put him in something like his Halloween costume get up he wore next to every day, or his favorite skeleton hoodie, even his fancy suit he painted a skeleton print over to wear on his prom night, but their father was relentless. He specifically asked for this stiff, expensive suit Kurloz hadn't nor would he ever have worn a day in his life. Their father wanted a "nice Christian ceremony."

It was like Gamzee could hear his brother's laughter in his head. Christian ceremony? What a joke, forget recognizing Kurloz' own religion, nothing was specifically his to ever decide. That or their dad was still in denial that he HAD a religion of his own, despite his older son's vehement efforts to prove him otherwise. Kurloz would have hated this. Gamzee certainly did, sitting begrudgingly in the first row with his knees pulled up to his chest and his face hidden in between them so no one would see the tears smearing his facepaint. He wasn't just upset, he was angry. He was angry before and he felt worse for being angry now. Kurloz didn't just go, he left.

He left him. Gamzee had known well that he had plans of leaving, but this was beyond anything he could have pictured. When his older brother told him he was going to move out so he didn't have to be around their father anymore, well at least he provided warning. This was something else entirely, this was... well, permanent. He couldn't stand this. He NEEDED his brother, didn't he understand that? How could he do this...? There was no warning. No note. No sign. He didn't even tell him goodbye.

Gamzee found it impossible to curl up against himself any harder, hoping maybe if he squeezed hard enough he'd just disappear, but his efforts were fruitless. He jumped suddenly when a hand landed on his shoulder softly, head whipping around to find the source of the unwarranted touch. He exposed his smeary facepaint to the red, blotchy eyes of his brother's girlfriend. Ex girlfriend, he never failed to correct you, but they were no fool to people with eyes. It was easy to know better than that, they spent their every minute together and you could just tell they'd walk to the ends of the Earth for one another. The younger Makara hopped up immediately to hug her, and she squeezed back impossibly tight. It broke his heart all over again to hear her sob and sniffle into his shoulder.

Why would he do this?

The only dry eye in the house belonged to none other than Kurloz Sr. Although he refused to leave the side of the casket, sometimes touching his hand to his son's face just to assure that his skin was still just as cold and lifeless as the last time he touched him. He'd smudge the facepaint that even the makeup artist couldn't get quite as perfect as when Kurloz did it for himself, at least he was given that much respect. Their father just stood there, looking solemn, sort of guilty. He had plenty to be guilty of. Gamzee always had tried to give his father the benefit of the doubt, he loved him. So he didn't dare say it. He didn't think it.

It was like an unspoken secret that everyone in the room knew, a wordless whisper. Mituna and Meulin stared between each other as if the connection was telepathic. Quiet, accusatory glances at the man standing beside the coffin. A message was relayed in total silence, falling upon even the ears that couldn't hear.

Mituna Captor was the one to break that silence. And although he was still sobbing and undoubtedly couldn't be understood entirely, he nudged his father away when offered help stepping up to the podium. He looked over the room. There weren't many people who turned up, but he was surprised to see even some kids from school who never even talked to them before had even made an appearance. He wiped his eyes and smiled at the thought of the "earful" Kurloz would give them for that.

"Kurlothz Makara..." He started, slurring his words already. There was mild concern on Mr. Captor's face, but his son just gave him a determined look and kept him in place. He took a deep breath, "Was the only... O-only person... who ever made me feel... normal." He put his hands on the stand, his fingers fidgeting. "When I thstart-thstart-thstated middle thscool," He twitched slightly, trying to force himself to sound somewhat competent even for a few minutes, biting his tongue as the first word properly stuck and refused to unjerk like some clothing caught on a loose nail. "I had no friends." Swallowing, he took another deep breath and wiped another tear away.

"I never knew, but he wath the only one I needed." He ran a hand down his arm, scratching there nervously as his chin kicked out to the side. "The other -fuckers- kidths," He paused, keeping his eyes down as he tried not to get distracted wondering if the kids at the back were laughing yet. Now it made sense that they'd come. Free show. He wondered how long it would take his dad to get thrown out of a church service for trying to defend his child's honour.

He pushed on, trying to do it without giving them the satisfaction of looking up at them. It was hard when your head kept flicking up every few seconds. "The other kidths'd call me short-buth. Or- or- make fun of... the way I t-t-t-talk. Th-They... Didn't even think that I underthtood them -SHITHEADS-."

He turned his gaze down from the crowd, staring at whatever prayer they were going to read out to send him off printed off, sitting on the pedestal catching teardrops. "Not Kurly. He was -tkk- different. I was different, with -with- him -safe-. And he made me feel okay about it, for onthce." He bit down on his lip, eyes too bleary with tears now to really see but it didn't stop him from peeking under his curly fringe at the small crowd. "No one could athsk for a better friend. He waths kind. A-and caring, and I-I-I..." He started twitching again, taking a nervous, shaky breath. "I loved him." He sniffled, and once he started ticing again Meulin rushed over to wrap him up and hold his shaking, crying figure until his father came to get him.

He was shaking and crying when Mr. Captor practically had to pick him up, the crying turned into yelling and flailing, he had to be carried out despite his cries to be with Kurloz.

Gamzee couldn't stand this.

Meulin hesitantly took the podium, glancing back at the door the Captors had exited and bit down on her lip. "Guess I'll take this one..." She murmured, too quiet to be heard by the crowd, not that she was aware. She let out a shaky breath and kept her head hung, her hands shook but she used them to assist her as she talked. "Kurloz always had something to smile about." She started, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips as the memories of his sweet face were trudged up in her mind. Her voice was usually much louder than she tried to project it, but somehow this time she didn't even need to try. Her voice was at an even tone, broken and quiet as her throat was too sore from all the crying.

"At least, whenever we spent time together. He was always so happy to spend time with his friends... his brother," The girl glanced over at Gamzee and all eyes shifted to him, he tried to sink lower in his seat, or maybe even disappear completely. His facepaint was all but ruined with how much he'd rubbed his eyes and his face. There was something about baring the face beneath the paint that the Makara boys always hated, made them feel naked, vulnerable. Meulin sighed and fidgeted with her jacket sleeves slightly. "Sure, he had his ups and his downs..." She tried her hardest not to glance over at the boys' father, but to keep from staring felt almost impossible. Her glance was quick and left just as soon as it had come.

Using her hands as she spoke was something she never did, if anything it was a nervous habit unless she just wasn't going to speak at all. Then something was just downright wrong. It was a coping method for whenever what it was she was trying to say was particularly difficult, or she couldn't get it out.

"We never would have... thought..." A soft sob escaped her as she thought about it, squeezing olive eyes shut as tears forced their way past. She resisted the urge to look back at the casket, the image of his still body was too much to bare even just in her mind. "The last time... I heard of him was..." She swallowed a lump in her throat and directed her gaze away from the crowd quickly. "Well, not _heard_, but..." She caught herself. He would never correct her like that, or let her correct herself. She loved that about him.

"Thirty minutes before they called his death, he sent me a text message..." Slowly, she pulled her phone out of her pocket as the stream of tears down her cheeks thickened, unlocking her phone just to look over the conversation for the thousandth time, as if expecting another message from him. Trying to convince herself that it wasn't true.

"He sent me a smiley face."

She choked back a sob as she laughed ever so quietly, wasn't that just like him? She was never sure if that smile was always just painted on, or maybe his friends were just his only happy place. Either way it was neigh impossible to catch him. Every sad moment he spent silently with himself.

Gamzee really, really couldn't stand this.

After that he wasn't sure what happened, he was already up and out the door. He just walked out. He hated this. He hated how much Kurloz would have hated this. He hated this stupid suit, and this stupid tie, tearing his jacket off and throwing it down on the floor of the funeral home in a fit. He just ran outside, unbeknownst if his dad even knew or cared that he was gone, but once he started walking he didn't stop. Hands in his pockets he dragged his feet along the sidewalk, determined to just walk his ass home, despite the cold and the black clouds gathering to block the sun out.

Of course, it started raining. _How typical._

He hated this. He hated everything so much right then. The worst part was, he wasn't really sure who he hated more... himself, or his brother.

By the time he got home he was soaked to the bone, and the door was locked. He was frustrated, burning with anger as he stood outside and started yelling and crying, kicking his window until it caved in under the force of his sneaker. All but throwing the screen into the bushes, he just yanked the window open and crawled inside. He neglected to close it, he just removed the rest of the awful, soaked get-up and climbed under his blankets to cry himself to sleep.

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><p>Sort of short, or at least in my opinion, just establishing the story. Thank you for the read and expect another chapter... well, sometime. I'm excited about this story, so hopefully soon. Expect ~<em>ghosty things.<em>~


	2. going ghost

Welcome back! If you've made it this far... I'm not sorry, and thank you for your bravery. Many people may not even be able to read this because of how sensitive the subjects are and I completely understand. On that topic; **the chapter warnings include:**

**- Graphic depictions of a suicide**- An emotionally manipulative father/son relationship  
>- Verbal abuse<br>- Depression/Self degrading thoughts

I'll be including a break to border the gruesome part, if that might help

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><p>Kurloz Makara had never thought much worth of his life. He didn't think of himself as extraordinary, or even needed, despite being told otherwise. Must have had something to do with how rarely he was reminded, on his off moments he'd slip, two of the only three people he really cared about took care of him like that. His own thoughts of self worth were reinforced constantly by the chilling demeanor of his father, who hardly did much aside from belittling him, disregarding his feelings and demanding he talk to him. He used to let those harsh words coax him into speech out of fear, but over the years he had hardened much like a rock, and found his solace in silence. His dad had never laid a hand on him, not once, so he failed to see the threat any longer. What he didn't notice was the harsh words becoming true to a voice in the back of his head, the same voice which guided and degraded him. Kurloz Makara never thought his life was worth anything. Not until the day it was taken away from him.<p>

The last thing he remembered was being angry. Then again, when was he not? He remembered how the hot tears felt as they burned his cheeks. His last happy thought was that of his girlfriend. _Ex girlfriend,_ a sharp voice reminded him in his head. He was accustomed to this presence, he just wanted to assure her that he'd be okay. Of course she didn't know anything was wrong, he usually didn't let her. A lie in a small emoticon was all he sent, though she knew very well it was his own way of reminding her he loved her. He wouldn't say it anymore, but nothing could keep him from showing it.

His fathers words would echo through his mind, sentences laced with blame and anger. Why was he so angry? Poor Kurloz could never put it together, his father had some bone he'd never picked shoved straight up his ass, and he'd take it out on his oldest in all his defiant teenage angst. It always left this ugly pool of guilt in the pit of his stomach, making him sick and upset. He'd wish he didn't live with this crippling anxiety, he'd hope for something that could just take it all away. At the best of times, he only talked to three people. At the worst, he wished he'd never talk at all. He'd wish he could finally find his peace, and solace in silence.

Another thought he found solace in was a more simple concept; death. "The easy way out," They called it, and he only vividly imagined why. To him, it felt like a dream a little too far away to reach, but the thought of bringing it himself hadn't quite crossed his mind. All he wanted was to fix things, not break them further, even if he could very easily see how simple the solution was. So he told himself he wouldn't cross that line, and instead laid back in the middle of his bed, sharpening his pocket knife. He wasn't even sure if he'd closed his door. Did it matter? Maybe he wanted to be found. Maybe he wanted someone to _care._

_~~~graphic part~~~_

He'd done this before, plenty of times. He was never audacious enough, when he brushed the blade against the wet muscle inside his mouth, no more than to leave welts that would swell and stop him from talking even when he wanted to. This time, though, felt different. He was driven by anger, and guilt, thoughts swirling around in his head like a whirlwind of turmoil. He wanted it gone. He never wanted to talk again, he never wanted to hear his father or anyone say things like "I know you can," or "You must not love me." So what if he didn't?! It's not like that bastard had ever done anything to earn his love or respect! Was it so wrong? To hate your father? His hands were shaking, and he choked on a sob as he felt the blade slice deep. Deeper than he'd ever meant to, somewhere the action had lost his attention. The taste of copper quickly filled his mouth.

Wincing, he slowly pulled the knife out of his mouth as he drug it along the wound before finally yanking it out. He'd underestimated the damage, trying to sit up more his hand seized his throat. He moved too quickly, and the next thing he knew he was choking. At first he thought he'd had it under control, but the choking wouldn't stop, and the blood kept filling his mouth and draining down his throat despite his efforts to push it past his lips and spit up whatever had him so vigorously.

_~~~graphic part~~~_

He didn't remember what happened after that, he simply blacked out.

The memory of the situation went entirely hazy, like a fog was spreading over his mind. _Everything_ went hazy, and odd. He was dreaming, he convinced himself, at least for a while. That's all it felt like, really. A strange, ethereal state of being, but not feeling quite there. There was something off about it, about everything. Namely, this "dream" didn't end.

He watched as reality faded in and out, like his vision was bleeding black and would clear itself at random intervals. Visions came to him, like made up scenes playing in his head. At least, he believed they were made up. That's all a dream is, right?

He saw his own face, still and expressionless. It didn't phase him much, this was how he always felt when he was alone.

He saw his brothers face, leaving him with an uneasy feeling. Something was wrong. The smaller teenager looked absolutely torn up, fingerprints running through his facepaint to the point of absolute distortion as the tears running down his face washed it away and exposed how raw his eyes were. Not very much got to him like this, when Gamzee wasn't angry on his rare occasions, or pouting, he was just as happy-go-lucky as ever. It wasn't like him to get depressed or wallow. Kurloz reached out for his baby brother, but just as soon as he had everything faded away again.

He saw his best friend's face, curled up in a ball as he cried and shook, ticing like crazy as whatever he was trying to say refused to leave his lips. This wasn't good at all, and all Kurloz wanted to do in that moment was comfort him. To pull him into his lap like he always did and speak softly to him until his soothing voice calmed whatever distressed him. Though when he tried to grab him, it was like reality glitched, and he phased right through him. But that was impossible, right? There was no time to question it before his vision was gone again.

He saw a room full of people this time. He saw his father looking as guilty as he deserved, for once, but he didn't understand what for. He saw his few friends and their parents looking downtrodden and silent as ever.

He saw Meulin. The tears rolling down her cheeks burned his very soul, eyes trained on the shaking in her hands she used to speak. What was wrong? It was completely lost on him. Why was he seeing this? It wasn't okay. A dream? A nightmare was more like it.

_But if it was a dream, why was he so lucid?_

Days had passed, but this went unnoticed as his perception of time completely eluded him. It was just him and his thoughts, floating in an emotionless, weightless dream. All his senses depraved, he felt nothing. Everything was silent, and solemn.

When he finally came to, the fading sensation had passed him. He was relieved to feel everything was... well, real again. As real as he'd experienced in a while. Something was still off though, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He shook it off, taking in his surroundings. He was relieved to find familiarity in his bedroom, at least something was normal. Sitting up in his bed, he glanced across his walls, slathered in posters of metal bands and rap artists, ICP and a few (read: many) pieces of paper with intricate reverse pentacles and other occult symbols tacked everywhere. His little touch to psych his father out, which he oh so enjoyed doing. Get a rile out of him. Prove a point, he guessed. The lights were off but his ultraviolet lamp had remained lit, casting an almost eery glow on the room. Just the way he liked it, ambient and non headache inducing.

He didn't quite remember standing up but the next thing he knew he was upright beside his bed, he just blamed the weird feeling and assumed he was feeling lightheaded. Was he tripping or something? He didn't remember taking anything, in fact there wasn't anything he really _could_ take as far as he knew. He groaned a bit and rubbed his eyes, although the feeling avoided him, leaving him feeling numb and his skin crawling like static.

Neither did he remember opening his bedroom door but he was in the hall before he realized, it happened too quickly to really question it so he just continued on his way. Gamzee's door was closed. That was unusual, unless his brother was throwing some kind of tantrum he'd always left it open. Kurloz tried knocking, although it left the same numb feeling as before. Nevertheless, he awaited a response. Nothing.

"Gamzee?" He asked, just close and loud enough the other would be able to hear him through the door and leave their father out of earshot, confirmed to be in the livingroom seeing as he could hear the TV blaring. He waited another moment and his efforts again proved fruitless. This time, he tried turning the knob.

His hand moved through it.

"What the fuck?" He asked himself, shocked. Was he hallucinating? That didn't just really happen. He tried it again, shocked to find the same results. This was not happening. There was no way. He didn't understand what was going on. Was he still dreaming? It was possible, but he assumed as soon as the ethereal feeling wore off he was back to reality. He was sure of it. More than a little freaked out, he slowly reached his hand out and tried pressing it against the door. It completely phased through, leaving him wide eyed and slack jawed. There was _no way_. He eyed the wooden contraption much like it were impaling the middle of his arm, which is truly what it seemed like but it didn't feel anything like it. It didn't feel like anything at all. He took a deep breath, then a brave step forward. The next thing he knew, he was inside his brother's room.

What? _What?_

He was still dreaming, he told himself, it was the only explanation to the surreality. But he didn't believe a simple dream could drag on for so long, it truly felt like he was trapped in one place and life was moving ahead of him. What was going on?

Shaking, he hurried to his smaller brother's bedside, finding a lump underneath a few blankets and pillows. He looked like he'd been tossing and turning, but then again his bed was usually this much of a mess. However, it wasn't like him to spend all day in it... "Gamzee?" He tried asking again, reaching out for the gently rising and lowering bump under the covers. However when he attempted to place it down it went about as smoothly as the experience with the door. So he just tried calling his name again.

And again. And again. And again.

Before long the older Makara brother was sitting up next to the wall, wishing he could bang his head into it. His voice felt raw from overuse, but at least he was feeling something. After a while he just had to give up, sighing loudly and forcing himself to do the weird door thing again. Perhaps he'd have more luck with... no... could he?

He gulped down a lump in his throat, clenching and unclenching his fists, he balled up and walked out into the livingroom. There he was. Looking... gross. This was... actually unusual, even for his father, the scene before him. Sitting in a lounge chair in a stained wife beater looking like he hadn't washed in three days, drinking from a brown paper bag, as if he'd been there marathoning football games for a week straight without much sleep.

Kurloz paced around, but wasn't noticed. Thinking it over, he'd have thought the solution would be to step in front of the television and block his view. Normally this would be a very brave move, it would get his attention as well as it would get a shoe thrown at him. However, his sacrifice was fruitless. In that moment, he wouldn't have minded being hit upside the head. There was nothing. No reaction. He didn't even blink.

Next, he tried clearing his throat, but it fell on deaf ears just the same as his brother.

Now he was getting frustrated, nails digging into his palms. No matter how hard he flailed his limbs or blocked the view or tried to pinch or prick his father, he even made fun of his favorite football team, nothing could prompt him to give him his attention. He just grabbed fistfulls of his own hair and let out an angry scream, squeezing his eyes shut as tears forced their way past the closed lids. Something buzzed behind him.

He looked up to see his father's attention grabbed, hope sparking somewhere in him that was delivered a swift kick when he realized it wasn't him that got his attention. He turned to find the TV had gone off... well, gone completely to static was more accurate.

A thought crossed his mind that had him freezing. _Was that me?_

As soon as the train of thought captured him, his energy calmed and the game came back on, his father brushed it off as an electrical problem. The teenager just let out a frustrated sigh and decided to move on. He trudged into the kitchen and took a good look around. In here, there was an endless array of things to interact with... well, under any normal circumstance.

He scratched his head and approached a counter, trying to grab the handle to the silverware drawer. It didn't comply. He simply tried again, though no matter how much focus he put into it, it didn't seem to work out. He just wanted _something,_ even the smallest interaction to prove to himself he wasn't insane. The more he tried, the less happened, until his temper was setting off again as the frustration rose and boiled. The angrier he got... the more it seemed to work? It clicked like a rusty clog that had just been polished. Emotion was his fuel. He managed to rattle the drawer, listening to all the utensils bouncing inside. He was pretty proud of himself.

"This is like some shit out of a Paranormal movie," he mused to himself.

_It hit him like a brick to the face._

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><p>Yess now we're getting to the ghosty parts, I included the break in case anyone squeamish may have rather skimmed over it so if you missed it let me just summarize that <em>Kurloz Makara did not kill himself. <em>At least not on purpose. Ahh snap. Getting dramatic in here right. I can't wait to write more!

Review please, it motivates me. uwu


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